Learning To Share - Chapter 9
I could sit watching him no longer.
For the last two hours he has been thrashing and screaming in his sleep. No
coherent words, just a feral snarling that chilled me to the core. I wonít leave
him entirely, but I need a few feet of distance, a slight distraction. I sit
on the couch and stare forlornly at the television screen. When the screaming
stops I go back in, until after countless times of disappointment, when he doesnít
wake, I stop even noticing when the quiet times come.
So I feel him standing in the doorway before I hear him. I keep my back turned to him and turn off the television. The silence is eerie. I donít know what to do now. I lay my head down on my hands putting my face into their dark embrace, as if that will keep me from his wrath. His hatred. He sits down next to me and heís not saying anything. I lean back, too and we sit there, two broken creatures, in pain. I turn in the gloom to look at him, and yet again he has already turned to face me.
I donít think I have ever seen such pain in his face before. He looks utterly bereft. I cannot begin to imagine where this dark magic has taken him. Itís instinctive. I donít care that I did this act to end our endless Sire/Childe games. He is in pain and I can comfort him. I donít know who moves first, me to stretch my arm round his shoulders to pull him to me, or him, laying his head against my chest. But we fold into each other, seeking and giving comfort. I can only hold him while he cries. Desperate, tearing sobs that break my heart.
When the storm is over and he quietens, I push his face away kissing frantically at his wet cheeks, wiping them with my hands, kissing the hollows of his eyes, revelling in their moist, salty taste. But itís the wrong thing, his despair seems to break forth again and again I end up just holding him tightly, rocking him gently to the rhythm of his own sobs. This time when he quietens I only take his hand and lead him to the bedroom. I peel off my clothes and steer him into the bathroom. Turning on the hot, strong shower I stand under it, turning my face up into the stream. After a moment I turn and holding out my hand invite him to join me. He does. I donít expect him to do anything now. He seems past being able to cope. I take the soap and start with his hair, rubbing it into the short, blond strands. He just rests his forehead on the wall and lets me. I continue my ministrations, down the strong muscles of his back, then over his beautiful tightly formed backside, down each leg in turn, then back, rubbing up past his cock and onto his belly.
But the Childe in him seeks more comfort. He takes my hand, and puts it back, down onto his hardening cock. He doesnít say anything, but bows his head, as if in supplication. This is not about sex, or passion or lust. Itís about re-establishing bonds and relationships. Re-establishing exactly what I had tried to end. Re-establishing that I am the Sire and he is the Childe and it is my job to give him comfort. I gently start to bring him to full hardness. As I pull to the top of his thick, heavy shaft, I squeeze his foreskin up, milking drops of precum. He tilts his head back and rests it in the hollow of my neck. I kiss the top of his head. He stretches his arms back around my waist to effectively pull him tighter into my embrace. And it is good. He comes quickly with a rigid jerk of his body against mine. His cold cum shoots out over my hand and wrist to be washed away in the swirling hot water. I keep up the pressure on his cock till the very last drops have been milked, then moving up as close as I can behind him, I wrap my arms around his chest and lay my cheek against his shoulder. And we just stand there, the water enveloping us, creating a warm, moving world in which we can try to escape ourselves and our pain.
I sent him into another place to learn to be my companion, my equal and he's come back a broken man. All I wish now is for the old Spike back. He may have been needy, greedy, childish, selfish, but he was mine. Now I'm not so sure that he is. He seems too lost to be anyone's. But I can still give him comfort, I can still play my allotted role. Like I have for centuries. I move him out from the shower and grabbing a towel as we pass, manoeuvre him onto the bed. He turns away from me and puts his arm over his eyes as if to try and hide his tears from me. I can't bear to see him like this. I kneel alongside him on the bed and start to dry him. He tries to push me ineffectually away, but I catch his arm, holding it to me. I know what he needs. I take my wrist and going into game face, slash it open with my razor sharp teeth. He smells the blood instantly and turns to look at me. I rub my wrist slowly over my own lips and tongue till I am saturated and gently bend over him to allow him to suckle the blood from my mouth as I kiss him. I can feel him start to revive as soon as my powerful blood touches him. I probe and explore his soft mouth. I can taste a cigarette, which is strange considering heís been asleep for over fifteen hours. I can taste him and I am hungry. He responds with a need that overwhelms me. Sucking, tearing at my tongue, his mouth wide, greedy.
When he is ready, I press him to my wrist and holding him in my lap, I let him feed. He seems ravenous. Whether it is for my blood or for my comforting is hard to tell. He seems to need both tonight. I let him feed well beyond my normal tolerance for draining. Until I can hear the echoes of eternity in my head, till I start to enter down into the dark realm from where we cannot return. I hear a voice. Is it mine? Have I been whispering quietly into dark? Have I been telling him I love him and that whatever I have done; I donít want him to leave? Donít leave me, Spike. Donít leave me. Donít leave. Donít.
On the brink of unconsciousness I pull my wrist away and hugging him to me, fall oblivious to his side. He has my potency now. It's all I can give him. If throughout that long day I have an impression that he does not sleep, that he lies restless in my embrace, it may have just been my own guilt reflecting into my dreams. If I wake in the late afternoon and find him gone, I thought it was just my own nightmare of him leaving. But as I slowly pull myself up through the layers of blood loss inertia, I realise that it is no nightmare. I am indeed alone. My arms are empty. His side of the bed is cold.
Powerful magic indeed.